Coca Cola Kol'd
by empressfate
Summary: After WWII, America was pretty sure he was the best, the brightest, and  most importantly, the strongest. But ,unfortunately, not many can successfully stand up to Soviet Russia.   RussiaxAmerica, IvanxAlfred.
1. Chapter 1

"Graceful." He swiped the comb through his hair, leaving it somewhat orderly but keeping the lady killing bedhead look.

"Handsome." He ran his hands over his chin, checking for missed stubble. Today was not a day to look at all like France. He also made sure to unbutton the first couple of buttons on his shirt. "Don't wanna be stingy, right?" He gave his reflection a wink.

"And you can't become a superpower without…" He felt blindly for his glasses, "Brains!" He laughed a little, reminded of a zombie movie he saw a little while ago. Checking himself over once again, he said to himself, "Sexy, babe. Sexy."

Strictly speaking, it wouldn't be totally lying to say Alfred was gay, or at least bisexual. He was in love with himself. Not the healthy kind of love, with both partners equally devoted to one another, the kind of love where hormonal teenage girls carve their favorite star's names into their flesh, and cover every inch of their bedroom walls with candid photos that had circulated in that week's gossip magazines. Except not the skin-cutting thing, because ruining this perfect body was borderline blasphemy, and not the photo thing because injuring the social standing is a no-no when dating (or pretending to date) someone as hunky as _this_, he thought.

"Lookin' good." He winked at his reflection before ducking out of the bathroom to snag a banana and drive to the meeting. Because even if it was in Europe, driving is _the_ American pastime.

Since he arrived a little early, Alfred decided to actually make a list of priorities (ranked in order of 'necessity', because there is no such thing as 'want' in America), highlight some key points, and try and anticipate the other's moves and how they would try and block his interests. After a few minutes of brainstorming, his thinky-cells ran out and he wandered around to find a vending machine.

"Geez. The war is totally over." He mumbled as he fished out change for a Coke. "Why can't everyone just agree to make me their ruler instead of fighting over land? I'm pretty sure we've already established I'm the hero, and Democracy is a damsel in distress." He winked at his reflection in the glass between him and one-thousand cans of varied drinks.

As he was about to walk away, he sensed something a little…off about his mirror image. After a few moments of pondering, he realized his precious Nantucket was askew! Such a misalignment could wreck his entire image of controlled-but-lazy-and-a-sexy-wildcard-ladies-don't-you-want-this. So, at first he simply tried tweaking the errant hair a tad, lovingly convince it to complete his image. When the hair began to rebel, he had to resort to greater measures, that eventually ended up with Alfred smacking his own forehead so hard it left a mark. "Damn." He complained, sitting in front of the reflected glass where his image was transposed on top of a multitude of weird beverages. "I _knew_ I should've bought the V8!"

"Is there a problem?" The unfamiliar voices shocked Alfred, who was totally immersed in the glory of his reflection and the soda. Turning around, he saw…someone.

"Who're you?" Alfred asked the man, who was wearing a white scarf and long jacket even thought it was relatively mild outside (and inside it was even a little stuffy).

The stranger smiled, and if Alfred had any atmospheric sensors he might've felt a slight chill of forewarning, but as it was, he just figured it was smiling and laughing time, or this guy was pleased to meet him. "I'm Russia." The man said, quietly but in such a way it would be impossible to not hear.

"Oh, cool, man!" Alfred jumped up, and grabbed his new acquaintance's hand, pumping it vigorously. "The name's America! I've heard a lot of jokes about your place!"

Russia kept smiling, and let Alfred shake his hand and talk about jokes that seemed to involve switching whatever direct object would normally be in the standard sentence as in, "He plays Tetris." Tetris being the direct object, and switching it with the noun ('He' in this sentence) and filling the direct object with 'you' while placing 'In Soviet Russia' at the beginning of the sentence. (In Soviet Russia, Tetris plays you)

After a while, Alfred remembered about the meeting, and ran off in the wrong direction to get there. Russia followed behind after picking up the unopened Coke can America had left. "Interesting guy." He grinned, already plotting as he opened the can and guzzled its contents.

About twenty minutes later, most of the main powers were assembled in a circular conference room. Aside from Germany, Austria, Japan, and Italy, who were in a time-out corner with dunce hats on, moping. "Like I was saying," Britain continued his long-winded-but-undoubtedly-brilliant speech, "I think what we should do is _re-educate_ Germany. We cannot allow these delusions to continue."

Most everyone agreed that the heinous crimes Germany committed were a direct cause of his youth, and he had obviously not learned his lesson last time he lost. There was a muffled cry of protest from the time-out corner when the plan was pushed forward.

"The question is now, of course, _who_ re-educates him." Britain said. Then, chuckling to himself, "Since I obviously am the best at raising kids, it should be me."

There was a cry of protest all around. "You're just a pedophile!" Someone shouted, but miraculously no one knew exactly who.

"What a parent really needs is _love_!" France said, "Painful, unforgettable _love_ that he will never forget!"

Another cry of protest. "You just want to beat him up!" The mystery person shouted.

Not about to be shown up by Britain, Alfred also decided to make his case to re-teach Germany. "It makes a good story if the hero saves the villain from a lifetime of destruction!" He shouted in his best 'I'm a trustworthy caretaker' voice.

Murmurs of protest, not many people actually _could_ stand up to America. But, still, one person stood up. "I think that if you want him thoroughly _re-educated_," Russia smiled, "You should really let _me_ do it."

Alfred was taken aback; no one had opposed him in _years._ Was Russia really that powerful? He wondered. The tension in the room increased exponentially. Even Poland had turned around from making rude faces and gestures at Germany to watch the unfolding drama.

After some sweating, America, Britain, and France responded, almost as one, but with dissonance, "NO WAY!"

"Huh?" Russia pouted, and acted a little self conscious, "Why not? None of the children _I_ educate run away and do bad things…" He went on, "And you guys didn't let _me_ decide anything about Italy and Japan. It's not fair."

Even now, Alfred was wondering if this new country he recently met was _really_ a threat, an equal. What if America actually _wasn't_ the top superpower in the world? What if he was…defeated? Would he have to go crawling back to Britain, and pledge allegiance to some monarch? Or worse…what if it was France? The times Alfred had spent with France were _not_ happy memories.

America turned towards Britain and France, and signaled they should discuss this. The three nations (quite covertly, with everyone staring at them) stood, walked a little ways from the table, and huddled together, American football style (which makes it kinda like a three-way distance hug).

"What should we do?" France whispered, panicking.

"How the hell am I supposed to know, you git!" Britain hissed back.

"Guys…"

"We wouldn't be in this mess if Monsieur I-subjugated-half-the-globe hadn't proposed this stupid plan!"

"At least I didn't take half the world's virginity! Wanker!"

"Guys!" Alfred said it a little louder, partly to get to the point, partly to suppress horrifying childhood memories.

But, anyways, both of the bickering nations shut up, Britain sending France an icy glare and France avoiding eye contact.

"Good," Alfred sighed. "Like I was saying, I have a plan."

Neither of the others seemed to believe him. Blank stares questioned the sanity of the kind of ditzy America. Planning wasn't an American quality. Brute skill and refined strength, yeah, but not…planning.

"We split up Germany. Three parts to us and one part to Soviet Russia. That way, we'll have most of it and we can launch a surprise attack once we're recovered from this war." Blank stares again. But the gears were clicking.

"That's brilliant, America!" They said as they patted him on the back.

Luckily, Russia agreed and mostly everyone walked out of the meeting quite pleased with themselves.

Well, Alfred was, anyway. And he reasoned that he was probably awesome enough to count for mostly everyone. He was humming and spinning his car keys when the awful reality hit him.

That ENTIRE time…

Nantucket was askew.

**A/N Dun dun duuuun! ****Cliff hanger.**

**R&R if you don't mind.**

**To make sure you know, I don't find America especially attractive (it would be weird to like your country THAT much) but since he's conceited, you get a sexified description of him at the beginning. **

**If it continues, I promise the Russia/America *coughsexualcough* tension will increase. **


	2. Chapter II

Ch. 2

He fumbled around for some kind of reflective surface, dropping his keys in the process, but eventually he found his cell phone from the future. With the backlight off, he could see his hair enough to tell that Nantucket was totally off. Like, a full three-point-five-seven-nine degrees! So, once again, he tried in vain to correct his mischievous strand, and ended up hitting himself to no avail.

"Geez, man." He complained as he rose from the asphalt. "Bad hair days sure are rough. I'll just drive home real quick and go back to bed." He tried to retrieve his keys from his pockets, but, realizing they were empty, retraced his steps to where he remembered noticing his hair again. He looked around, on his hand and knees even, searching, but to no avail. "Craaaaaap." He held his head in his hands. The keys could get replaced, but his limited edition Hannah Montana keychain was gone _forever_. Not to mention he'd have to get Britain or France to give him a ride home. Hopefully Britain. France never gave anything for free.

Alfred shivered as an especially cold gust of wind blew through the parking lot. From behind, he heard a semi-familiar voice. "Is there a problem?" Russia asked.

"Ah, ahaha." Alfred laughed nervously. "Well, yeah, but I'm not willing to actually wear the wig myself."

Russia smiled. "You should be getting home soon," he said, and as another, colder gust of wind came through, added, "The cold can make you lose your mind."

"Yeah…" Alfred agreed. One time, during a bad snowstorm, he had to stay in his house for, like, a whole _week_. He was a little bonkers after that. "Do you know if Britain's left yet?"

"Oh, I think he left as soon as the meeting was over with Mr. France. Was he your ride home?"

"Yeah, well, not really. I mean, I didn't know I _needed_ a ride home until the meeting was over." For some reason, Alfred couldn't bring himself to be comfortable around this man. He couldn't focus, either.

Ignoring the obvious logic hole in America's explanation, Russia decided to offer him a ride. "It's cold at my place." He offered as his explanation.

Even without the sketchy explanation offered, Alfred wavered a bit on whether to go with this scary, scary, person or walking across the scary, scary, ocean. But, he figured, this guy was less likely to eat him than the sharks were.

As he climbed into the passenger's seat of Russia's (old) car, Alfred saw a few snowflakes flutter to the ground. Strange, he thought as Russia turned on the car, the weather forecast said it was going to stay warm all day.

"It's snowing." Canada remarked as he stepped out of the building (which happened to be about when Russia and America were pulling out of the parking lot).

"Who?"

"Shut it. I'm here to add suspense. Can't a man just stand out in the snow and say that it's snowing in a dramatic way? Is that so wrong? I just wanted a minor role. Just enough to get me some footnote in a wiki article! Is that so _wrong!_" But, alas, the last part of Canada's speech was lost as Britain and France –bickering loudly- walked into the parking lot as well.

Nearly up in arms about something, they parted ways once they got to their cars. As he passed America's car (which he could recognize by its distinct red stripes and white stars, Britain vaguely wondered if he had stalled out with a mirror fixing his hair.

A nearly tangible wall of silence was forming between the driver and passenger seats. In the quiet boredom of the car, Alfred let his mind wander. Britain had told him, when he was younger (and recently, too…) not to get into the car with strangers. But this Russia dude wasn't really a stranger, right? As countries, we kinda had a mutual bond, right? We fought on the same side against Germany in those wars (learned this during the meeting), right? His indecision wasn't helped by how cold the car was.

"Hey, Russia," Alfred said, shivering, "Why don't you turn on the heater in here?"

The man just kept smiling, driving calmly down a deserted road.

"Hey." Alfred poked him in the shoulder. Still no response. "Hey!" He shouted, trying to catch his attention but not wanting to get them into a wreck (even though there were no cars).

"Do you want to stop for hot chocolate, America?" Russia finally acknowledged his passenger.

"Would I! Of course!" Alfred eagerly answered. Hot chocolate was almost as good as ice cream, and double as good in cold weather.

"Okay. That's good. I know a good place nearby." Suddenly, Russia, who was just a few seconds ago crawling at a snail's pace down the road, floored the gas pedal. Alfred was thrown back in his seat, and hung on to the cushion for dear life as his ride home drove like a madman.

But he didn't tell them to slow down or anything. That would be rude, he reasoned.

After all, this was _hot chocolate_ we're talking about, and Alfred wasn't the type of man to get in the way of sugary goodness.

It definitely wasn't because he was scared or anything. Nope, no cowardly, reluctant hero here.

Meanwhile, a man was (very coolly) reading a newspaper, sitting (very handsomely) on the patio of a (very stylish) cafe. He brought (very gracefully) his (very hot) coffee to his lips, mumbling (very nobly) insults about some celebrities. "OwowowOUCH!" He shrieked as the coffee spilt on his (formerly awesome) shirt. "Dammit." He cursed with (manly) tears in his eyes. "I hate this place! I'm never coming back, hear me!" He yelled at the establishment, pointing an accusatory finger.

From inside, a recently hired waitress asked her coworker what was going on. "It's nothing." He said. "That guy does that every time he comes here. I always warn him it's a _hot_ coffee, but he never listens. He'll take his shirt off and get drunk soon, and we'll have to kick him out. Just watch."

And sure enough, Prussia decided to shed his un-awesome and stained shirt in favor of revealing his extremely awesome chest. He also produced a few bottles of beer and was soon trying to entertain the other customers (who were very scared) with his war stories.

"Mommy, I want to go hooome!" A child whined from his right.

Just as he was about to tell a story from his Teutonic Knight days, his Russia radar kicked in. He ran screaming like a little girl towards the south, jumping over the gate that kept the patio secluded from the road. He ran until he came to a pool, where he promptly shed his remaining clothes and jumped in.

What flavor would you like?" Russia asked as he pulled the car into the drive through. A chill still pervaded the vehicle.

"Uh, regular I guess." Alfred shrugged. It was best to stay simple, with the way this guy was driving. Whipped cream and marshmallows don't taste near as good when they stain a perfectly good pair of black slacks.

Russia ordered, and pulled up to the pick-up window. "My treat." He said as he handed over the glorious chocolate.

"Really!" Alfred was giddy with joy. This guy really _was_ nice! A little crazy, but really nice! I mean, evil people never go around getting other people hot chocolate, right? He grabbed the chocolate, happy as a puppy with a steak, saying thousands of thanks to his new friend.

"Do you want to stop somewhere to drink it?" Russia asked as they pulled out of the parking lot. "There's a nice park nearby."

"Hm?" Alfred was still riveted to the chocolate he held, waiting for it to cool down. "Sure, if you want to." He barely kept his cocoa from spilling as they made a hard turn right.

At the park, Russia led him to a bench with a perfect view of the lake. "I come here sometimes to watch the little ducklings. Aren't they cute?"

"Huh? Sure, I guess." Alfred thought himself too manly to like cute things. His cocoa still wasn't cool enough to drink, either.

"So, Mr. America, what do you do in your free time?" Russia asked.

"Oh, I work out and eat and play games. Sometimes I pull pranks on Canada." He replied. "You?"

"I like to dress my Baltic States in cute outfits and have fun with them."

'Kinky,' Alfred thought. "Ahem, so maybe we should be going back now," he said, throwing his cup on the grass.

"You shouldn't litter," Russia said quietly, picked up Alfred's trash and expertly (without even glancing in that direction) tossed it into the trash receptacle a few yards away.

"Showoff." Alfred mumbled, and walked ahead to the car. Pouting and planning to one-up him eventually, Alfred grumped into his seat on the passenger's side and buckled his seatbelt. Unhurriedly, Russia followed.

But instead of resuming his former post at the driver's wheel, Russia opened Alfred's door. Before America could protest or grasp the situation, Russia's face was mere centimeters from his face and both of his hands were engulfed in Russia's huge gloves. "I hear Alaska is very nice this time of year, Mr. America." Russia whispered suggestively. "Why don't you stay there this summer? Washington is _so_ far away, and I would love to visit you." At the end of this last sentence, Russia pressed his lips on Alfred's. Shocked, Alfred sat dumbly as Russia's arms found their way to his waist and Russia's tongue forced its way into his mouth.

**A/N Sorry about the long delay, I accidentally forgot I was writing this….:) thank you for wonderful comments!**

**Oh, the reason it tends to switch between America and Alfred is because…America is kind of like a title, and Alfred is his personal name, so it makes more sense to use them depending on the situation, point of view, etcetera, than to stick with one the whole time and have slightly off sentences. If it is too confusing for my dear readers I can change, though…**


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